Side Effects
Authors: Awesomeness Ink
Side Effects © 2014 DreamWorks Animation Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.
Based on “Side Effects” © 2014 Awesomeness, LLC. All rights reserved.
Created and produced by Running Press Kids, an imprint of Running Press Book Publishers, Philadelphia, PA 19103
ISBN 978-1941341-50-6
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without written permission from the publisher. For information, address AwesomenessINK, 1000 Flower Street, Glendale, California 91201.
Lyrics for “Sweet Little Pill” courtesy of Allison Schroeder, Ryan Shore, and Chester See
(Awesomeness Music Partners, LLC).
Lyrics for “Bad Day” courtesy of Allison Schroeder, Ryan Shore, and Chester See
(Awesomeness Music Partners, LLC).
Lyrics for “Boom Boom” courtesy of Allison Schroeder, Michael Corcoran, Eric Goldman, Zachary Hexum, and Niki Watkins (Awesomeness Music Partners, LLC).
Lyrics for “Pull Me Back” courtesy of Eric Goldman, Michael Corcoran, Niki Watkins, Zachary Hexum, and Allison Schroeder (Awesomeness Music Partners, LLC).
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
I feel like such an idiot. All this time I've been worrying about my own problems with the She-Bitches and the lie heard 'round the world that I forgot I'm not the only Connolly in pain here. Yes, Keith, Lexi, Jason, and I have our issues, but somehow we've all dropped the ball when it comes to looking after Sam. We're all he has in this world till we figure out where Dad disappeared to. And how do we help him handle it all?
By pretty much ignoring him completely.
Yep, it's official: we suck as a family unit.
I run down the narrow path and almost get barreled over by a guy on a bike towing a blue carriage behind it. I hear two girls squealing giddily inside as they pass. This is probably not the safest place for me to walk. I veer off the path and try to put myself in Sam's shoes. Where would I go if I were him? He'd prefer to sit by a fountain or a park sculpture, that's for sure, but since this place is nowhere near as nice as Griffith Park, I'm thinking the likelihood of a sculpture like the Astronomers Monument being around are slim to none. He doesn't have his bike with him. Hmm . . . a bunch of boys in soccer
uniforms kick a ball past my head and I duck to keep from getting hit.
“We just played for at least an hour,” a sweaty little boy whines. “Let's go to the park!”
Park! I notice a swing set in the distance. Sam once fell off the monkey bars and broke his right arm, so I'm not sure the park is his favorite in the world, but when his options are a bench covered in bird poop or a swing set, I'm thinking I'll find him on the swing set. I walk across the muddy field from last night's rain and to the entrance of the park covered in Astro turf. The place is pretty much deserted except for the swings and the large sandbox that has ride-on diggers in it. A few mothers are pushing toddlers on baby swings, but the regular swings are empty. Except for one. I'm relieved to see Sam going back and forth slowly, the photo box and his sketchpad balanced precariously on his lap. He's completely in a trance, staring down at his feet, which he's dragging through the sand. I'm so happy to see him. I want to sprint to his side, but I don't want to spook him.
I move slowly, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice the seesaws on the other end of the park. Lexi is sitting hunched over on one end of a seesaw. Behind her, I notice Zak approaching. Lexi has someone who has her back. I focus on my little brother, so I can have his back too. Almost as
if sensing I'm there, Sam looks up. I expect him to be angry to see me. Instead, his oval-shaped eyes, so similar to my own, remind me of a puppy in a store window. I just want to squeeze the kid.
I sit down on the swing next to him and push off. “Want to talk about it?”
Sam shrugs. He opens the photo box and stares at the stack of pictures inside. “I don't remember half these things we did.” He picks up one of us at Disneyland. “I was too young I guess.” He looks at me and his brow creases with concern. “All I remember is Mom and Dad fighting a lot.”
“Mom and Dad didn't fight a lot,” I say almost accusingly and then stop myself. These are Sam's memories, not mine. “I mean, I can't believe that's what you remember.”
He laughs to himself. “Great memories, huh?”
Gently, I take the box from his hands and place it on my own lap. I slow my swing to a stop and look through for something that will spark his memory in a good way. “We can do better than fights. Let's see . . .” I pull out a picture of Mom climbing a wooden barricade. She's wearing war paint on her cheeks and a bandana with her company name on it.
Think Whitney,
I tell myself.
Where is this from? Oh, I know!
“Remember this?” I ask, showing Sam. “This is from that time Mom signed us all up for some family challenge on her
company's retreat. We spent the entire weekend smelly and disgusting on obstacle courses. We were terrible! Keith face-planted when he fell trying to climb up one of those rope ladders. Lexi kept tripping every time she had to run, and then Jason would swoop in and try to save her like he was her power twin or something. Dad had to carry you and me because we were the youngest. You and I loved it,” I tell him.
“We did?” Sam asks, biting his lip. I can almost see the wheels turning as he tries to unlock the door to this memory.
“Yep, and Mom was the worst of all. She just laughed herself silly every time one of us screwed up. When we finally got to the obstacle course wall, which is this picture here, suddenly you got this look in your eye. You were determined for us to finish the course, even though there was no way we could win at that point. You told us to imagine we were all Spider-Man. You were obsessed with him. You even went first over the wall.” I grab Sam's leg as I remember the feeling of watching him scale that high platform. “You got to the top in no time and captured the flag that was up there. We were all cheering.” I pull my swing over to his and lock my left leg around his right one so we're attached. “You were the big hero of the day. You even got a rewardâ”
Sam interrupts me. “A twelve-scoop banana split.”
“That's right!” I'm excited he actually remembers. His face
breaks into a huge smile. “Remember Mom had one too? Extra chocolate, marshmallows andâ”
“Pineapple!” Sam finishes. I don't remember the last time I saw him this excited. The breeze blows that mop of brown hair out of his eyes, and the two of us just stare at each other for a moment, remembering the sights and sounds of that day. “Thanks,” he says shyly. “I remember that now.”
“Good.” I look down at the sketchbook in his hands. I wonder if I should keep going with this bonding thing since it seems to be working. “So I hear your teacher selected you for the county art show next week.”
“How did you hear that?” Sam's eyebrows go up.
I don't tell him the truth. His art teacher, Mr. Colligan, who's also my art teacher, stopped me the other day and asked if any of us were going to come see his show. I didn't even know Sam was in it. “Your teacher says you're some sort of art genius, which I find hard to believe.” He knocks his swing into mine. “But I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt till the show, at least.” I nod to his sketchpad. “Want to show me something award-worthy?”
Sam pulls his pad off his lap and hides it behind his back. “No way.”
“Come on,” I beg. I put the photo box down and start to swing again. As great as that memory of our family trip was, it
also makes me depressed. There will never be a family trip like that again. I try not to dwell on it, but it's hard not to blink back tears. I don't want my brother to see me cry. Not when I'm here trying to cheer
him
up. I have to focus on my breathing, like my psychiatrist says I should in situations like this. “
Breathe in and out. In and out. Concentrate on something else
,” I can hear him say.
“Show me where you get your inspiration from,” I suggest to Sam.
But it's already too late. I can feel my medication kick in and the swing set does a complete 360 before righting itself and bursting into a rainbow of colors that are as comforting to me as a hot cocoa with extra marshmallows.
“I just draw things,” Sam says, starting to swing again a little. “Stuff that will take me away from this reality, you know?”
Maybe Sam and I have more in common than I realized. “Trust me, I know.” I nod to the book he has tucked under his arm as he swings. “So why don't you show me some of your work.”
Sam stops swinging again and passes me his sketchbook. I open it slowly, afraid of what I'm going to see. What if he sucks and I have to lie to him about it?
Thankfully when I turn to the first page, I know I'm so wrong to even think that. This is no kiddie drawing. Sam's used soft charcoal pencils to draw a meadow beneath a starry night
sky and every star, every flower, every blade of grass is so vivid it nearly jumps off the page. I do a double take when I look at my brother again. How did I not notice my brother was an artist? How many times have I passed an art project in a hallway at school and never realized Sam's signature was along the bottom?
I look down at a painting of a tiger and the song Jason was blasting in his earphones sneaks into my thoughts. Capital Cities' “Safe and Sound” sums up exactly what Sam is trying to do when he escapes into his artwork. I know because it's the same thing that happens when I let the hallucinations take over, like they are right now.
The tiger sprouts vines from his head in a multitude of colors. Pink palm tress and lilac mountains appear behind the swing set. Then Sam takes my hand and we jump
Mary Poppins
âstyle into his sketchbook. He uses an oversize crayon to draw a scene in the scene in a jungle for us to walk through. Bumblebees and insects fly by as I use binoculars to view the world he created up close. Green pops on the tree vines and flowers seemingly open as we pass them, bathing the jungle in reds, pinks, and whites.